


Designation

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [67]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad weather and even worse company - the best combination to jump-start Sam into his new, and unwanted, role as a Prime as he tries to stop an escalation between Barricade and Blades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Designation

Sam had had a lot of time to think. The Arctic was a very good place to lose himself in work and not get distracted by everyday life. He spent hours in the labs, tinkered with one thing or another, let his mind roam through the well-known and very familiar systems of the base, and he sometimes reached out just to check on the mechs assigned to Arctic.

Currently Prowl and Jolt were here. Jazz had left with the last transport plane for Nevada once more and aside from maybe a visit by Ratchet, no one was expected. The Ghost-2 was currently being overhauled for her next flight. Finch and his team were trying out the new shields designed by Hook to keep the ship invisible to human scanners.

Another project, the Wisp, was being constructed at the Ark. She was a large exploration vessel, twice the size of the Spook, which was already bigger than any of the two Ghosts, and she would take a while to complete. Arctic was helping out when it came to constructing parts, but the main work was done by the Constructions in space. A crew of humans was now permanently at the Ark to assist. Sam knew that Finch and Laura were scheduled to fly to the Ark by next weekend, leaving him alone at Arctic.

Not that he really cared. He needed some alone time. It was one reason why Bumblebee wasn’t here. He had to work a few things out and he didn’t need a worried mech in his head.

Someone who was at the base, who hadn’t left when Jazz had, was Barricade. Sam didn’t mind at all. Barricade kept back, simply watched, and wouldn’t interfere unless called or unless he decided things had gone the way they had for long enough. So far he was a shadow, mostly outside, or sitting in the main hangar. No one approached him; no one actually paid him much attention. People here had gotten used to the former Decepticon.

Currently Sam sat in one of the observation lounges and gazed into the foggy morning. It was cold outside, but winter was still a few weeks away. Right now fog was turning visibility to almost nil.

But his mind wasn’t running on nil; it was running on high.

He was a Prime.

He was an equal to Optimus.

But he wasn’t! He wasn’t!

He was Sam Witwicky. Engineer. Human. Okay, technopath. Screwed-over-by-the-Allspark. Freak.

But not a Prime!

Scrubbing a hand over his face he shook his head.

He and Optimus shared something. They had something in common. A heritage. The Allspark had changed him, his genes, and now… now he was a Prime. Rodimus, too. And Will. Not to mention Tony, who no one had mentioned that particular new development to, it seemed.

“Deep thoughts, I see.”

Sam turned and smiled up at Jolt. “Not too deep. Just reflections.”

The silver and blue mech walked to him, joining Sam in his contemplation of the fog outside.

“The landscape is good for that. It’s peaceful,” Jolt said.

“Yeah. Kinda.”

It got him a brief smile. “We didn’t have landscapes like this on Cybertron. Your planet has a certain beauty, a wildness, you wouldn’t find on my home.”

“Probably.”

Jolt’s optics briefly darkened. “As much as it pains me sometimes, I believe that I’ll never see my home again, so I have adopted your world. I like being here. It’s different enough to forget what happened sometimes.”

Sam shot him a curious look.

“I’ll sit here and watch the clouds or the snow, or I’ll drive outside and watch the animals. I can let my thoughts drift.”

The technopath nodded.

“And sometimes there’s a revelation.”

“Revelation?”

Jolt smiled. “Back on Cybertron I wasn’t a high-ranking officer or someone otherwise important or well-known. I was a thinker. I liked exploring. I liked to read through the archives and discover the old anew. When I had too much knowledge in my systems I just let things… run. I sat there, watching nothing in particular, letting thoughts run. Like you're doing now. Sometimes I had a revelation about a problem. Sometimes it just cleared my processor.”

“Well, I don’t think there’s a solution to what I’m thinking about. It’s there. It happened.” Sam sighed. “I’m apparently a Prime.”

Jolt had settled next to him, looking at his human friend. “Not apparently, Sam. You are. You might not be Cybertronian by birth, but your heritage isn’t any less potent, any less strong. What it means exactly you’ll have to find out.”

“Wait for the revelation?”

Jolt chuckled. “Yes.”

“And if there is none?”

“You at least let thoughts run their course. Bottling everything up inside is painful, Sam. Letting thoughts run in circles, unable to process matters because you crowd your systems with too much input, is harmful. You’ll shut down one day.”

Sam nodded. “It’s why I came here. To get matters into perspective, be alone, have no one in my head.”

Jolt regarded him curiously. “Am I interrupting?”

He chuckled. “No. I can block you guys just fine.”

And with the base emptying slowly of people as the holidays approached, Sam would probably be almost on his own by the end of the week.

“Prowl and I will be up at the Ark by tomorrow,” Jolt told him as if reading his thoughts. “Finch and his team will accompany us. Apparently, the Constructicons have pushed the schedule ahead a little more. They worked really fast.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugged. He didn’t mind a few days with barely anyone around.

It had been the perfect time for Sam to retreat to the mostly empty base for some peace and solitude. It was also a time he could freely work on his skills. Technopathy wasn’t something you mastered, like a language. You had to train; Sam had to flex his mind and do something.

So he did.

Jolt rose. “I plan to drive a last round outside. Want to come?”

He shrugged again. Why not?

Sam got to his feet and went to grab his weather gear, then joined Jolt in the main hangar. A few hours in the wilderness outside actually sounded rather nice.

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Sometimes weather forecasts came true. Sometimes the truth was even worse than the predictions could have made it.

Just before Christmas, Arctic base had emptied of the last personnel that had been released home for the holidays, to return after New Year’s.

The problems began after the base had been emptied, except for the core personnel. It was the weather, which had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Fog was coming in so thick that no more planes could land. The last one out had been the day before the sudden weather change, and the last one in had never meant to be here for more than a lay-over. The transport had been scheduled to pick up some stuff, then continue to Australia.

As it was, it hadn’t. The crew was forced to stay at Arctic.

Aboard the plane had been Blades. The former Protectobot had been on his way back to Australia after visiting Nevada, and now not even his aerial form would brave the weather outside. No one was crazy enough to fly in this storm. The snow, ice and hail made conditions highly dangerous, not to mention the gusts of wind and the blizzard heading their way.

That’s when trouble had really started to brew.

Blades hated Decepticons. He hated them with a vengeance. Even Ironhide was more reasonable than the Protectobot.

With snow piling up outside, temperatures lower than all winter, and more snow storms on the way, Arctic was cut off from civilization and from transportation. There was enough food for the few humans still present and with the arc generators running everything, heat and electricity wouldn’t go out either.

But there was not enough room for Blades and Barricade to really avoid each other – aside from going outside and no one would dare that at the moment.

While Barricade remained passive, almost docile, Blades used every moment to taunt the other mech; to fling insults, to try and get a reaction. So far flares of red optics, flexed talons and low growls had been all Barricade had allowed himself.

But things were getting worse.

And blows would be not far now.

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Sam felt like hitting his head on the cupboard door repeatedly as voices floated over to him. His head ached and he was close to throwing a hissy fit.

Well, maybe he should.

He was at the end of his rope.

A spike of emotions hit him, going through his leaky shields, and he growled. His shields, which had been up for the past three days and nights. Outside the base the storm of the century was howling over the bare land, and everything was keeping a low profile.

Not so Blades.

Even technopathically speaking he was right in the middle of everything. Sam perceived the mechs differently when he opened his mind. Jolt, for example, was an even, very grounded presence that could serve as an anchor in an emergency situation, should no one else be around. He was young, but he wasn’t volatile, erratic or shifting constantly. Sam found himself at ease in the mech’s presence.

Blades was… he had a sharp, metallic tang to himself. He was… a blade. He was all cutting edges and spikes and pain. Sam had mostly kept his distance to him, glad he was at Australia. Even Sideswipe, who had experienced so much pain and had possibly lost his twin, was less painful than the Protectobot. Blades wanted the hurt; Blades wanted the pain. He was looking to keep his hatred alive with every molecule of his being.

Sam had gone as far as asking Ratchet about the Protectobot and Ratchet had supplied him with a file that gave him a little insight.

“Before he joined the Protectobots, Blades was known as a dirty, underhanded street brawler,” the medic had told him. “He got into whatever fight there was. He usually started it, too. Medics saw him a lot. Then Hot Spot saw him and somehow got him to join the Protectobot forces. I don’t know what he saw in him, but it had to be something. It worked, too, but Blades was always looking for trouble. He did his job and he was very good at his work, but off duty he hadn’t changed.”

Then the war had happened. Blades had been the one to come after the fights, saving survivors. It had grated on him. He had wanted to be there first, gut a Decepticon from antenna to tailpipe.

“So he looked for fights again,” Ratchet had continued. “He headed into areas with known Decepticon presence and tore apart those who got in his way. You think shock-troopers were hard-assed fighters? Blades was, too. I think if it hadn’t been for Hot Spot bringing him into the Protectobots, he might have ended up something a lot worse. Blades did his job and did it darn well, but if there was a way to get his hands dirty in the process, you could bet your processor he'd find it.”

And so he was going at Barricade every moment he could catch the Decepticon and Sam knew that after two days of non-stop aggression coming from the Protectobot, something was going to give.

It gave an hour later and the technopath gave a cry of anger and frustration. He pushed back the chair and stalked out of the room.

Someone rushed past him, looking alarmed.

Sam snarled, quite aware what was happening. Barricade’s presence was sharp and black and cutting into his own mind. He knew the shock-trooper so well, he knew what was going on inside him. He knew that he was close to losing all restraint and just giving Blades what he wanted.

Walking into the main hangar, aware of others close by, he took in the scene in front of him. Blades was approaching Barricade, who had taken a battle-ready stand. He had yet to bring out a weapon, but it wasn’t much longer before he responded. His instincts were to attack and take care of the Autobot riling him up. Reason was currently keeping him under control.

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“I don’t care if they say you’re an ally!” Blades hissed in Cybertronian. “I don’t care who you’re bonded to. You’re a Decepticon! Always were, always will be.”

Barricade regarded the other coolly. “And you’re an Autobot,” he stated. “Moronic to the very end.”

Blades’ optics flared. “You’ll suffer for that!”

“Really?” the shock-trooper drawled.

Blades snarled. “I don’t care who’s protecting you, Deceptiscum! You killed my kind and I’ll wipe you off this world for good! All you do is spy for Megatron!”

“For a dead mech? Sure. Moronic and delusional. It just figures.”

Blades pulled his gun, pointing it at his slightly smaller opponent.

“Who’s protecting you now? You can’t crawl behind Jazz’s back and Optimus won’t really miss you.”

The humans were already retreating and no one had tried to interfere.

No one but one person, who was currently walking straight toward them, Barricade realized. One person whose determined expression he knew, whose eyes were steely, whose whole body radiated fury. For a moment he was tempted to open the ever-present connection to the technopath, but that thought was quickly erased.

By a blow aimed his way.

It glanced off his shoulder armor, scuffing the paint there, and he moved instinctively away. Taloned hands caught the Autobot’s wrist and twisted the arm, then shoved the mech away from him with a well-placed kick.

Blades whirled around with a yell, gun charging. Barricade brought out his own weapon.

“STOP IT!”

Barricade froze as a wave of such power washed over him, his circuits actually stuttered for a second. His spark pulsed in recognition of the power, of something deeply ingrained in him responding to the command. He had joined the Decepticons at the beginning of the war, but he had never lost his respect for the position of ‘Prime’. It was like an ancient part of him stepping back, realizing who he was facing. Sure, he would have killed Optimus given the chance to bring victory for Megatron, but he still would have respected the former co-leader of the Lord Protector of Cybertron.

“I don’t care who started it!” Sam’s voice sliced into their processors. “I don’t care what you think! I don’t care about what happened in the past! This stops NOW!”

It felt like a blow to the head and Blades rocked back, stumbling. He lost the grip on his gun and it fell to the ground with a loud clang. Unlike Barricade he had never experienced the power of Sam Witwicky, nor had he cared to get to know the human better. Sam had never been important to him and the elevation of the technopath’s status to Prime hadn’t changed that either.

“How old are you? You behave worse than human children!” the technopath went on. “This either stops now, for good, or I’ll make it stop!”

Blades caught himself, sneering at the human. “How? By commanding us, human Prime?”

Barricade recognized the danger before Sam even spoke. He hadn’t worked with him for nothing. He knew every little twitch, every gesture. He was probably one of the few mechs who could understand human body language so well.

“You’re weak-minded to trust this scum!” Blades went on. “You think he’s good? He isn’t! He will turn on you the moment he has opportunity! He’ll sell us out to Soundwave!”

Before Blades could take another step, the technopathic mind lashed out and caught him. The Protectobot froze, optics flaring in shock. Barricade suppressed a nasty grin, but he couldn’t suppress the wave of pride he felt. He had trained Sam well.

“I don’t command you to do anything as a Prime,” Sam said, voice deadly and cold. “I’m not your commander. Optimus Prime is. I don’t care what kind of problem you have with Barricade, Blades. I really don’t give a flying fuck! The base is big enough for you to keep to yourself. Do it. You want to lash out at something?” Sam gestured toward the massive, closed hangar doors. “Go outside. Nice weather. Have a go at it. Don’t start shooting at allies!”

“He’s not an ally!” Blades ground out. “He’s the enemy. He’s the scum of the Pits he crawled out of! He’s a killer! He killed your kind, he killed my kind, he will do so again!”

Sam’s eyes seemed to harden further. “I know who and what Barricade is. I’ve been inside his mind, I held his very spark in my hands. I know exactly what happened in the past, of the deaths, the torture and the war! I. Don’t. Care!”

“Then you are foolish, human. Like all your kind, you trust too easily! One day he’ll turn around and kill you.”

Barricade snorted softly and shook his head, but he said nothing.

“My trust is based very solidly on things you’ll never understand, Blades,” Sam simply said. “I know him better than any of you, Jazz aside.”

“You protect a killer!”

“I protect no one. You two want to duke it out? Fine by me. Do so outside. The base is neutral territory!”

And finally he released the Protectobot, who stumbled a little.

“Foolish human,” Blades whispered, catching himself. “All of you!”

And then he turned around and left, heading for the deeper levels.

Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, looking pale and worn all of a sudden. Barricade didn’t move, just watched. He knew how much the technopath had expended energy-wise and a few years ago Sam would have collapsed right on the spot. Now he was still on his own two legs and he seemed rather coordinated.

Finally, when Sam turned, stumbling a little, the Mustang transformed and opened a door. The human gratefully got inside and let Barricade drive to the opposite end. He parked in one of the side rooms that usually housed Ghost engines and was used for test-driving the thrusters. Now it was just a huge, empty, armored chamber.

::Do you need nourishment?::

::No:: was the soft reply and Barricade felt little twitters of pain, but nothing close to the migraines Sam used to suffer from.

Barricade opened the glove compartment.

::Eat::

Sam suppressed an annoyed sigh and took the power bar, eating it quickly. A can of soda washed it down. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, feeling his mind relax.

After some time he opened his eyes, gazing out the windshield. Barricade was a silent, cool and stable rock around him.

“He really, really hates you,” he said softly.

“I noticed,” was the level reply.

“I’m surprised you didn’t turn him into a wall ornament.”

The former Decepticon snorted. “Rumors and lies aside, shock troopers don’t attack first and ask questions of the scrap heap later. We were trained to strike specific targets, defend who we were assigned to guard, and ignore the taunts of those like the foolish Autobot.”

Sam nodded. “I guess I would have kicked his ass if I were you.”

“That’s what he wanted. I’m hardly the mech to give someone the pleasure of behaving like the false image he has of my kind.”

Sam studied the dark dash. “He lost his whole team. It was an ambush. He saw one of them die at the hands of Decepticons. I’m not sure about the others. His mind is jumbled in that regard. I think he wants the pain. It keeps him running.”

“Perils of war,” was Barricade’s emotionless remark.

He had experienced his own loss, right down to the death of his bonded at the hands of Megatron. He had known anguish, he knew the horrors. But he hadn’t lost himself.

“He knows that, Barricade. He just… can’t cope right now. Seeing you makes him crazy with hatred. Same goes for the Constructicons.”

“Now I’m not so alone,” came the sarcastic muttering.

“It’s a problem.”

It got him a hum.

“I think when the Wisp is ready, he should be aboard.”

Another hum, this time accompanied by a questioning poke.

Sam smiled a little. “I’m not a Prime, Barricade. I won’t command anyone. I’ll talk to Optimus. He has to know what happened here. If Prowl had been here, I doubt it would have gone this far, but he isn’t and it has.”

“You are a Prime, Samuel Witwicky,” Barricade stated firmly. “It is your heritage. If your human brain can’t accept it, so be it. It won’t change your designation.”

Sam let his head fall against the seat’s head rest. “No one sees a Prime in me, Barricade! You saw Blades. He wouldn’t take a command from me.”

The former Decepticon snorted. “He’s an idiot who can’t get his processor around the fact that the war is over, that we all lost, that our world might be dead or destroyed or lost in subspace. He wouldn’t have listened to anyone right now.”

“Aside from Optimus.”

Barricade shifted a little. “The Prime is powerful. He has the oldest spark. We all feel it, but you are his kin now.”

Sam closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “Right. All I’m lacking is a designation name, right?”

“You have one. Your parents named you.”

Sam grimaced. “You know what I mean. Rodimus Prime, Optimus Prime…”

Barricade chuckled darkly. “I think you have names enough, Ladiesman 217.”

The technopath smacked the black dash, knowing fully well he couldn’t hurt the mech.

::Noumenon Prime:: Barricade suddenly said in a teasing voice. Well, someone who knew him would recognize the teasing.

::What?!::

::It fits::

::As if. It’s stupid. I’m Sam::

Barricade chuckled. ::Get used to it, Ladiesman::

::You’re a bastard and you love it::

::Immensely::

Sam finally opened the door and got out, feeling only a little remainder of the headache now.

“Try to stay out of trouble?” he asked.

“Yes, Noumenon Prime,” was the cynical reply.

::Shut up, okay?::

::As you command::

Sam glared, then heard the low, dark rumbling chuckle. Barricade rolled with him as he left the side room, then parked himself near the back, inconspicuous, simply watching.

Sam went back to his own quarters, grabbed his digital tablet, then walked to the labs. He would distract himself by going over the design of the Wisp’s engines.

Noumenon Prime! He snorted. Okay, so he could contact everyone technopathically, could log into hybrid or human-built machinery, understood Cybertronian code… but he wasn’t…

::That which is tangible, but not perceivable:: Barricade startled him. ::Brush up on your own language, human::

He pushed the other back, angry at himself for leaving the connection open. ::I’m not a mech! I can’t log onto a net and get me a definition! You didn’t know until you googled it either!::

Barricade radiated amusement. ::Temper, temper::

He pushed at him again. He wasn’t ‘tangible, but not perceivable’! If anyone had been altered completely by the Allspark into something ‘not perceivable’, it was Lennox.

::It’s a different difference. You are a different energy, Samuel Witwicky. Yours is the power of the mind.::

::You know what? Piss off::

The amusement turned into dark laughter, but Barricade retreated, leaving a not amused Sam to himself.

He growled softly. He didn’t need a Prime name. Sam worked just fine; Dr. Witwicky if things got formal.

He suddenly ran into Melanie McMillan, the Arctic base commander in Banachek’s absence.

“Dr. Witwicky,” she greeted him.

He nearly rolled his eyes. “It’s Sam.”

She smiled. “As you say, doctor. I heard about the scuffle in the hangar.”

“It was nothing. All taken care of.”

She frowned slightly, studying him for a moment. McMillan was a tall woman with straight red hair she usually bound back into a pony tail. She was about a head taller than Sam and rather imposing. She hadn’t gained the position as Banachek’s second by simply looking good. She had an aura of command that everyone respected, even mechs, and she had had some encounters with Prowl in the past until lines had been drawn and everyone respected them.

“Well, I’ll be glad to have Blades off base soon,” Melanie told him.

“Weather report came in?” Sam asked.

“It looks like the worst will be over by tomorrow evening. We’ll still have the cold and the snow, but the wind will be manageable for the transporters.”

“Good news.”

She smiled tightly. “Yes, indeed.”

Sam chuckled. “Blades making your life hard, too?”

“So far everyone has been rather… tolerant. But if he keeps this up, I’ll have to draw a line. There will be consequences. The forwarded reports on Decepticons, what they did in the war, and how they cannot be trusted left me with no other choice but to close down the email system.”

Sam winced. “Ouch. Well, I’ll keep Barricade company. Just in case Blades tries again.”

She nodded. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to give Mr. Banachek and Prowl a report about this.”

“Yeah. I know. I’ll give Optimus a heads up when I’m back. If it wasn’t for the fact that Blades is paranoid enough to see the enemy in the Constructicons, too, he would be up on the Ark already. I think making him part of the Wisp crew is the best solution.”

“Hopefully,” McMillian only said, then walked with him until Sam took the corridor to the hangar.

He passed a few people, but not as many as on a normal day. They greeted him with a nod or even a leisurely salute when it came to soldiers.

Barricade was still parked in the back, a silent, dark presence. He hadn’t moved.

“I don’t need to be baby-sat,” Barricade growled, but he didn’t drive away as Sam made himself comfortable with his pad.

“But I’d like to have some company. And I don’t hold a grudge.”

“Why should you? I simply informed you of the facts.”

Sam sighed and ignored the last comment, refusing to rise to the bait. Barricade was likewise silent. The technopath finally called up the design plans, then lost himself in the mechanics of Cybertronian deep space ship engines.

 

Thirty minutes into his work he started with the 3-D holographic displays and Barricade began to take an interest, actually throwing in a few ideas. He had piloted the Nemesis and he knew about ships.

The next hours turned into an intense work session.

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As the weather report had predicted, the winds died down around noon the next day. Sam was rather glad about it. The moment Blades was off the base they could relax again. Even keeping his distance from Barricade, the Protectobot had radiated such hatred that Sam’s shields had been under constant assault. It had been so bad throughout the night that he had only been able to catch some sleep while anchored to Barricade. While Blades hadn’t openly confronted the shock-trooper, lingering around had been less than helpful.

The first plane to land was from Nevada. It refueled and took off again, with Blades on board. Sam watched the plane taxi over to the take-off position from the observation lounge, then went back to the lab. He had talked to McMillian over coffee this morning, who told him she had informed Banachek. That meant Prowl and Optimus Prime knew, too.

Blades had kept a low profile for the last fourteen hours, but Sam had been acutely aware of him near-by. While work distracted him, it didn’t leave him unaware of the mech presence in the base. Since there were only two, Blades had really stuck out. Anyone who thought Barricade might have a sharp, painful aura for a technopath had never experienced Blades.

“If you suggest to sleep in the same room I am in, I’ll kick your fleshling ass,” Barricade had snarled when Sam had yawned and shut down the design plans.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Though he was used to sleeping inside cars and didn’t find it at all uncomfortable any more. Still, he wasn’t a baby-sitter or guardian, and Barricade could take care of himself.

Sam joined the few men and women for an early dinner, then for a movie in the rec room.

Nothing much happened over night, for which he was grateful. The storm howling outside and covering the base in a liberal dose of fresh snow was enough.

The winds died down abruptly the next day and by two p.m., the weather had completely cleared. Sam stood in the observation lounge and watched the snow being cleared off the runway. The sun was actually coming out and it looked to be a really nice day in the Arctic.

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Optimus Prime stood in the rear loading bay of Nevada, a place where there was rarely a lot of traffic. Right now, with the base running normally, all business was conducted through the main bay. In the back it was quiet and only storage was being brought through.

Sitting next to him on a crate filled with assorted gear, Sam Witwicky waited patiently. The technopath had returned last night and immediately fallen asleep. Barricade had sent Prime a brief report, telling the Autobot leader to get the rest from Sam himself. There had been no word about the confrontations with Blades and Blades himself had returned to Australia without losing a word about Barricade either. Captain Burns had only told Optimus that the Protectobot was back and in a sulky mood, but that wasn’t anything new. Blades was prone to mood swings

“The Wisp won’t be ready for another four months,” he finally said.

“As long as Blades sticks to Australia we won’t have a lot of problems,” Sam replied evenly.

Blue optics met dark human eyes. “I had hoped against hope that being here might heal a few wounds,” Optimus said softly. “I was wrong.”

Sam chewed on his lower lip. “I saw some of that pain, Optimus. It’s hard for Blades. He’s carrying a lot of pain. He saw some things that make me shudder.”

Prime was silent.

“From his point of view I understand his reactions. He sees a murderer; a cold-blooded killer, and we trust him. He will never be able to understand my trust in Barricade. He thinks everything is simply a ruse, a plot to get close to us and then turn us over at the next best opportunity.”

Sam stopped for a moment, visibly fighting whether to reveal something he had seen or not.

::Optimus?::

It was a tentative technopathical knock and Optimus opened his side of the communication.

Sam touched him carefully, weaving a gentle connection, then let the Autobot leader see what he had caught while restraining Blades. The emotions had been so raw, so very much on the surface, it had been impossible not to see them, to feel it all.

Blades hadn’t just been a Protectobot, one of many who had served under the same designation. He had been on a team with four more individuals. Hot Spot had been their team leader. Together with Groove, Streetwise and First Aid they had been a tight team. Blades, despite his flaws and moods, had fit in. They had accepted him. Now they were apparently lost, in his memory they had died.

::They were meant to form a combiner:: Optimus informed the technopath. ::Before the war broke out completely we had thought of forming them into a guardian for specific targets. Their combiner would have been the prototype. Had it worked, we would have had the others refitted to combine as well. We never had the chance::

::That might explain his intense feeling of loss:: Sam said softly.

Optimus shot him a curious look.

::I wouldn’t call it a bond, but there is a connection, like a rudimentary, unused socket where nothing can be plugged in because nothing fits. It’s there and Blades is aware of it. It’s not like with the Constructicons. That was a complete reformatting and it was painful and forced and alien. Blades basically has what is needed to form the combiner, but he lost his comrades. He knows there should be something, but it’s not there and it never will be::

Optimus looked pained and gave a rattling sigh. ::I understand his pain, but we can’t change what the war did in that regard. Many of us had to find a way to go on and we did::

Sam nodded, very much aware what the mech was getting at.

::Some of us found a way to survive, to lead a normal life on your world, Sam. I’m infinitely thankful that we could adapt and have been accepted by your kind. Some have even formed new relationships::

That was said with a small smile. Sam replied in kind. It wasn’t just about Ironhide and Bumblebee, the partners they had found. Or the friendships like Tony Stark and Rodimus Prime, or Mike Bowman and WiFi. It was about the Dynasty as well. Optimus Prime was no longer alone, didn’t lead alone. He had found there were still heirs to the Dynasty, even if three of them were human by birth.

There was no way Optimus could express what he felt. No longer alone, feeling a connection to Rodimus forming, aware of the others as kin, as co-leaders with different areas of expertise. Sam experienced that feeling and he had to smile. He might not be seen as a real Prime by some Autobots, and surely some of the officers would look at him askance, but he was glad to help where he could.

::You are accepted, Sam:: Optimus told him and the technopath groaned.

He had forgotten that when forming such a connection, emotions and some thoughts went both ways.

::I doubt Blades would have reacted differently with me or Rodimus::

::Yeah, well, you’re at least his kind and his size::

Optimus chuckled. ::Size is a matter of perception, Sam. Your abilities give you a strength that surpasses your physical size. Jazz is one of the smallest of my soldiers and he is my second. Do you see the others treating him differently?::

::No. But he’s Cybertronian. He fought with you::

::You fought as well. All of you. You are a Prime and you did what you had to with Blades. Would you have stepped aside if it hadn’t been for the revelation that the Allspark gave you this heritage?::

::Uhm, no::

Optimus nodded, saying nothing. Sam sighed.

::You are a good mediator, Sam. You handled yourself very well.:: Optimus smiled more. ::Like I said, no one can change what Blades experienced. No one can force him to accept Barricade. I believe making him part of the Wisp’s crew would be the wisest decision::

::Prowl will be so happy::

Another chuckle. ::But he can handle him. He can direct the energy of hatred into a different task::

Sam nodded and got up. Optimus held out his hand and he stepped on it to be lowered to the ground.

“I heard you have a Prime designation,” Optimus remarked as they walked back into the main section of the base.

Sam groaned. “I’ll kill the bastard!”

“Barricade did sound amused.”

The technopath muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

“You are still Sam. It is still the name I will address you with.”

“Thanks.”

“Whether you use your designation is up to you.”

“Right now? No. As you said, I’m Sam. I’ve enough names and titles anyway.”

Optimus nodded his acceptance.

They parted ways and Sam smiled as he discovered Bumblebee waiting for him near the main hangar entry. His partner transformed and opened a door, a clear offer to get away for a few hours. Sam took him up on the offer, opening up his side of the bond and letting Bumblebee close again.

Things had come into perspective again. He hadn’t really had any revelations, but he had finally sorted out his head.

Noumenon Prime. It sounded strange and alien. Okay. So be it. As long as no one called him that, aside from Barricade because he was a bastard, Sam was okay with it.

 

fin for this one  
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Author’s final note:

Noumenon: from Greek nooumenon, from neuter present passive participle of noein, to perceive by thought


End file.
